


Glory glowed in his soul (where is that glory now?)

by blueberrywizard



Series: [mixtapes from stewjon] [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Based on a song, Cody is a darling, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hand Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, I got myself a language kink from writing this, Implied/Referenced Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, It's very soft but also a bit sad, Kenobi drinks space Earl Grey and I won't stop reminding you that, M/M, Multilingual Character, Not Beta Read, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Planet Stewjon is Space Scotland, Pseudo Philosophical Conversations, Singing, Stewjoni Culture (Star Wars), Tenderness, Why there isn't a tag for it?, Yes I'm on a campaign to make it a legit tag, he always needs a hug, mentions of Melida/Daan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberrywizard/pseuds/blueberrywizard
Summary: "You see, sometimes you need to fight for peace, before you can keep it. And the worst part of this war is that I am doing what I had been doing my whole life – but now I’m doing it on a way larger scale."Or: Obi-Wan Kenobi, one way or another, was always meant for war. Even if he desperately tries to avoid it, itfollows.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: [mixtapes from stewjon] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189487
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75





	Glory glowed in his soul (where is that glory now?)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!
> 
> I'm here again, with a lighter story (it also could fill the gaps of the previous one, but it's an independent story, so you don't need to read it, although I recommend it), but still. We're talking about Obi-Wan, so you know the drill. 
> 
> English is still not my first language, and I still hate the interpunction. 
> 
> Title and general idea for the fic come from [A Skye Boat Song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGgMMUBX6kY) It's the one with lyrics written by Robert Louis Stevenson, because I have feelings.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, one way or another, was always meant for war. 

And the Force was with him, every step he took on this path.

* * *

Future is always in motion. Oh, yes, but when the future crashes into destiny, there’s only one outcome. 

Destiny always wins. 

And the Force observes. 

* * *

The village was calm and peaceful. First rays of sunshine appeared behind gray clouds, bathing vibrant green hills in rosy, warm light. Everyone was still asleep, comfortably warm and well rested under heavy, woolen blankets, grasping last moments of calm before starting a new day of work.

Everyone but one person.

Her voice was quiet, but clear and melodic when she sang a song for her newborn son. A song her mother had sung to her when she was little, and her grandmother before, and every other woman in her family. It wasn’t her song, she didn’t own it, but it ran in her blood so smoothly like it ran off her tongue. It was a song of her people and that made it _hers._

She sang a song of a lad that is gone, and in her bones she knew it’ll be her son’s song.

He opened his eyes of the colour of the sky outside and they immediately found hers, piercing and relentless. It was an unusual look on a face of such a small child, it would make her nervous if it wasn’t for the beaming smile her son gave her while reaching for a curl of dark auburn hair that slipped from a hastily made braid.

_Glory of youth glows in his soul,_ Blaire thought, turning too look at the rising sun from the warm safety of her house. _Where will that glory lead him?_

Her son was born in this house, not further than a kilometre than one of the biggest battles on Stewjon happened, on _Samhain_ day. In the middle of the night, she saw bonfires taller than the tallest of her neighbours, she heard people singing and dancing, on the fields nearby. 

And as her son took his first breath, a wild fire the closest to their house exploded. Later, when the festivities calmed down, her husband had taken the flame from the wild fire back to their home. It burnt so warmly, so stubbornly in their hearth, she couldn’t stop looking at it. As she held her son in her arms, she named him _Obi-Wan_ , a hand that wields the light, for he was born on the darkest night of the year and he was born of fire. He will not yield, he will not surrender. He was born of battlefield, but he will also know peace.

He will be the light that brightens even the darkest of hearts.

And she sang to him for the first time.

_Give me again all that was there, give me the sun that shone, give me the eyes, give me the soul, give me the lad that’s gone._

Her son would be a fighter. She knew that much.

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi came to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant when he was three years old. He had no possessions except for knowledge of his mother’s language and her song, which she told him it’s also _his,_ and not something to be shared lightly. He understood the weight of her words in his bones, he saw it in her stormy blue eyes. The last thing she told him, before nodding to the tall man with a passive face, was _you are the hand that wields the light, a sheòid, wield it for good._ She straightened up, standing proudly, like Mother Goddess of Stewjon, and a fire burnt in her eyes. Tall man with a passive face, but also surprisingly warm brown eyes, took his hand and led him to his ship. He never saw her again, but he heard her asking the Goddess _where will that glory lead him?_

He never forgot his mother’s language, even though he caught on Basic fairly quickly. He adopted the polished Coruscanti accent of his crèchemaster who had spent the most of his free time teaching him the language, but also let him speak Stewjoni if he wished to. He never really outgrew the habit of speaking in his mother’s language when he was exceptionally tired or just cranky (or to simply irritate Qui-Gon – his master knew a lot of languages, but harder to pronounce languages like Stewjoni weren’t exactly his forte).

Later in his life, he wondered how it happened, that he forgot everything about Stewjon, he forgot his mother’s face, the colour of her hair, but he always remembered her song. It flew through his body, like the Force did, and the Force carried the memory of what he should never forget. 

He often hummed it under his breath when he needed something to hold on. He hummed it on Bandomeer, he hummed it for the children of Melida/Daan, he hummed it under the skies of Mandalore. He hummed it for Anakin, on his first night on Coruscant.

But he never sang it out loud. 

Qui-Gon asked him to sing it only once during his whole apprenticeship. It was shortly after he came back from Melida/Daan and almost everyone could notice that he hummed it more often before he left the Temple. He asked, because it was ‘a brainworm he was infected with for quite a long time now’, and he was curious.

He just gave him a flat look and said: “If you suspect that you might have a worm in your brain then you should visit Halls of Healing, Master.” 

He took his books and left their living room, leaving a stunned Jedi Master who, for once in his life, didn’t know what to answer.

This song wasn’t something to be shared lightly with people. It wasn’t something to be shared with him, he knew it in his heart; he knew it, because the Force whispered to him about it. So he didn’t. 

* * *

“Obi-Wan, you’re doing it again.”

“ _Dè?”_ He looked up from his datapad, only too see mildly surprised Cody (and that was telling something, his Commander had the most impressive sabacc face he had ever seen) and very exasperated Anakin who threw hands in his direction, after looking in Cody’s direction.

“See what I’m dealing with for thirteen kriffing years?” Another look from his former apprentice and then he realised.

“Oh. I apologise. I didn’t mean to forget myself that strongly and exclude you from communication, Commander. That won’t happen again,” Anakin snorted and Obi-Wan didn’t even bother to hide his tired sigh. “Anakin.”

“Don’t ‘Anakin’ me, Master! You always say it and then it happens again, approximately every two months, if my record is right…”

“What? What _record,_ Anakin?”

“… and I still know like seven phrases, three of them being a colorful swearings, one is a toast and one is a greeting, which frankly speaking is a bit concerning, because you shouldn’t be that exhausted after a whole night of _sleep,_ but then you need to _get it first,_ am I right, Cody?”

Cody’s face turned from “mildly surprised” to “quite surprised”, and he didn’t even get a chance to answer, because Anakin wasn’t exactly _done._

Little gods, one more hour of staying awake and his headache will become a sentient, fully independent being.

“So could you perhaps go to bed, which I’m sure you have assigned, because this is _your ship_ , when you start thinking in a wrong language?”

Scratch that and make it half an hour.

“Anakin, there is no such thing as ‘wrong language’. You should know that, Basic is not your first language either. And for what it’s worth, when it comes to a linguistic debate, we should be grateful that you’re not beeping at your soldiers after tinkering for three days straight with your droid.”

Anakin spluttered and pretended to be gravely offended. Cody stayed silent, but he could feel amusement rolling off him in waves. It actually helped him a bit to stay coherent.

“You know what, Master? We need a break, at least five hours of it. Go to bed, please. No, meditation doesn’t count as sleep. Cody, would you–”

“On it, General,” He answered before Obi-Wan could raise any protests, and he gently made them leave the briefing room. “Goodnight, sir.”

“ _Oidhche mhath,_ Anakin!” He yelled, because he could, but Cody didn’t let him stay long enough to hear his reaction. “I’m sorry, Commander. That was a goodnight in Stewjoni.”

“I gathered that much, sir,” His answer was crisp, but he looked interested. Or rather he felt an echo of his interest about it in the Force. “If I may ask the question: Basic is not your first language, General?”

“You may ask me anything, Commander. And no, I learnt Basic after I came to Coruscant.”

“That would explain your accent.” His Commander answered and… was that a blush on his cheeks?

“Is there something wrong with my accent?” He asked with big wide eyes, which normally wouldn’t work on Cody, but he already was a bit embarrassed, so his blush only became more prominent. It was a lovely view on his equally lovely Commander.

“Uh– No– I mean– Not at all, sir!” They arrived at his door, so there was no reason to draw his teasing more than it is necessary, but he hadn’t managed to say a word, because Cody quietly added: “I think it’s gorgeous.”

And Obi-Wan was definitely more tired than he thought, because there is no other explanation of his next course of action. 

He took his right hand and lied down a chaste kiss on it. 

“ _Oidhche mhath,_ Commander.” He said softly and stepped inside his room. He knew Cody stood there for a couple of seconds, and the Force… 

The Force exploded with feelings.

* * *

Cody learnt that Obi-Wan could sing after a particularly hard campaign. 

They were on this small planet on the Outer Rim for almost two weeks now and everyone was exhausted, Obi-Wan included. Yet, he still took time to go around their camp, to talk to his soldiers, to help them ease their fears and pains as well as he could. There always was a shiny that could use a talk, he knew from experience.

Force, hadn’t that sounded awful?

He shoved that thought aside, he had a duty to his men, and right now it was the most important thing to do. 

He found himself in a medics’ tent. Most of his men were either unconscious or asleep, but in the farthest corner lay a trooper, crying his eyes out, judging from the shivers that shook his whole body.

Obi-Wan’s heart broke every time he had seen something like this. It broke, because this whole war was pointless and endless, and nobody cared about his brave, amazing soldiers, nobody cared about their lives and their death. They cared only about victories (that never held for long), and about their own safety. 

“Hello there.” He said, quietly, not wanting to spook the trooper. He came to the 212th a week ago, with other reinforcements. It was his first battle.

He was tired of this war.

“General, sir!” The trooper fumbled, not knowing if he should stand or wipe the tears or maybe salute, he almost fell off the bed. He held out his hand to stop him, and calm him down.

“At ease, please, don’t move on my account. I came to ask if you need anything. What’s your name? I apologise for not asking earlier, but things were getting out a bit out of hand, so to speak.” He smiled gently, pretending that he didn’t notice the surprised look on his soldier’s face.

“Billy. I’m Billy, sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Billy. Would you mind if I sit with you here for a moment?”

“Oh, no. Not at all, sir!”

They sat in a companionable silence, until the Force prodded him to _do_ something. So he started to hum a song. It wasn’t his mother’s song, but it also was a song from Stewjon. It was a deep space travellers’ song, made for them so they could bring a piece of their home with them wherever they go. It was an old song, written when the only ships on Stewjon were those that had been meant for seas, not skies. The times changed, yet the homesickness stayed the same. 

“This is nice, sir.” Billy muttered. He was almost asleep, so he figured that adding words to his humming wouldn’t hurt much. And if Billy would get a decent night of sleep… it didn’t cost him anything.

“ _–on may the Wellerman come to bring us sugar and tea and rum, one day, when the tonguin' is done, we'll take our leave and go…”_

That was when Cody entered the tent, probably looking for him, but that didn’t stop him. Billy was asleep, but not too deeply. He could end the song first, and then ask Cody why he was looking for him. 

He ended it how he started it: with soft hums and tapping of his fingers on his thigh to keep the rhythm. 

“This was nice, General” Cody whispered, and Obi-Wan couldn’t hide a smile, hearing the same words Billy had said not that long ago.

“Thank you, Cody. Let’s go outside, I don’t want to wake Billy up.” 

Night air on the planet was pleasant. He regretted that they came to this planet only with war in their minds, but that was their lives now. He regretted it too.

“ _Where will that Glory lead me_ indeed.” He muttered under his breath. He sighed tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

“What do you need, Commander? How can I help you?” He asked, but he couldn’t ignore the soft look in his Commander’s eyes. Whatever he needed him for, it wasn’t for war effort. Cody took his hand and led him to his tent.

“I just wanted to be sure that you’ll get some sleep, _cyare._ You’re dead on your feet, I can see it.” Cody made him sit on the cot, and kneeled down to help him with his shoes. And then with the rest of his robes.

“Oh, thank you, _mo chridhe.”_ He sighed again, when he felt his lips on his eyebrow. 

“And now, I can _hear_ it.” Cody joked as he took off his armour.

“It’s not that bad, now! It’s a term of endearment, and you use them all the time. _Kote.”_ He could almost taste the shiver that went through his body when Obi-Wan said his name in Mando’a.

“Yes, but yours are almost always in Basic. And it’s hot when you’re speaking in Stewjoni,” His Commander almost looked thoughtful when he said the next words. “And it’s pissing Skywalker off. So you see: good things only.”

Obi-Wan laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time when he felt that comfortable with another person. Probably never. He always kept some distance, but when it came to Cody, he couldn’t help it, but he felt drawn to him. His dry sense of humour matched with his, and he was an incredibly skilled warrior. A warrior with a big and tender heart. 

He would gladly lay down his life to see him happy. 

He smiled softly at him. Cody pulled him down and wrapped his arms around him tightly. He felt secure, but it wasn’t overbearing. He knew Cody would let him go the second he’d ask. 

_Kote._ His Glory. 

“Oh, _mo chridhe,”_ He repeated himself. “They are for you, only.”

* * *

He didn’t want to have this particular conversation with anyone, especially his Commander, but the last few weeks were hard, although they managed to keep the rate of casualties fairly low. However, Cody asked him a question and he promised himself a long time ago, foolishly, maybe, but whatever, too late now, that he would do anything in his power to indulge him in these rare moments of curiosity.

They were drinking that night, not enough to be completely drunk, but enough to feel a pleasant buzz, and apparently enough for his reserve to lower down.

“How come that you’re so good at this?” Cody’s question took him by surprise, and Cody looked equally surprised that he had actually asked him this. “I mean, I know the Jedi are– and well–” It was unusual to see his Commander fumbling with words, but alcohol could get even to the best of them. “Not all Generals are as good as you are.” He finished quietly, looking down into his mug as if it was holding the secrets of the universe.

Obi-Wan could relate to this sentiment, but his mug only showed the remains of the Alderaan’s finest tea (his favourite, thank you, Bail) laced with so much whiskey that it was rather alcohol with tea, than the opposite. 

“Why, thank you,” He answered automatically with just the right amount of flirt. He got deadly serious quickly, because it wasn’t really the right moment to do it. “But I suppose you’re right, my dear. However, things tend to be more complicated than they look.”

He took a couple of minutes to gather his thoughts. How could he explain this to him and not bare his soul in the process?

“Yes, the Jedi are meant to be the peacekeepers. But, when you lay down your life in the name of peace, sometimes you can’t help but notice that to have peace, you need to have the conflict in the first place.”

It was an uncharacteristically bitter phrase for him, and he knew it. Cody raised his brows, but he didn’t say anything, he just took another sip from his mug.

“It is really quite obvious, if you think about it, you know. Even the simplest, the quickest diplomatic missions I had done in the past, they resolved around the conflict of sorts. The best case scenario involved just me helping to establish fair arrangements and deals that were mutually beneficial, but the ‘peace’ part was already done by them. The worst case scenario… well, that involves a lot of waving around my lightsaber,” He tried to smirk, but his smile quickly fell from his face. “And sometimes even doing it without it.”

Cody coughed and put away his drink. 

“What.”

Obi-Wan truly didn’t want to talk about this right now. His Commander really didn’t need to know the things he had been up to when he was a teenager. He waved his hand to dismiss the question that hadn’t been asked, not really.

“This is irrelevant right now. But you need to know that the Council hadn’t asked me to negotiate in these easier scenarios. You see, sometimes you need to fight for peace, before you can keep it. And the worst part of this war is that I am doing what I had been doing my whole life – but now I’m doing it on a way larger scale.”

He downed his drink quickly wishing for another one, but it wouldn’t be wise. He still needed to be fit for duty tomorrow. 

“So yes, I am a peacekeeper. But the bitter truth I didn’t want to face for the longest time is that I am also a warrior. In some ways I had been made for fighting and I’m good at it,” In the rare moment of truth mixed with a total vulnerability, he looked right in Cody’s eyes and whispered: “And it scares me, because I know I am capable of doing terrible things.”

Cody stretched out his hand to hold his. They sit close enough so he could raise it to his lips, mirroring the tender gesture that Obi-Wan indulged himself months ago. He kissed his hand and he said: “But you’re not doing them, Obi-Wan.”

“No. But where’s the line, really?”

None of them could answer this question.

* * *

He woke up from the dream with his mother’s song in thoughts. 

He didn’t know if it was some sort of sign from the Force or maybe just a memory coming to the surface, and to be perfectly frank: he didn’t want to know. He no longer could remember her voice, but the memory of a song was nice to have. 

He was laying on the bed on his ship and Cody lied beside him, and for once, he could feel at peace. 

He started to hum. He didn’t know how long they lied like this, but at some point in time, Cody’s hand on his stomach started to move. He was wrapped in warmth, and comfort, and love, and he knew that one day he is going to sing _his_ song to Cody. 

“ _Madainn mhath, Kote.”_ He whispered, turning in his arms, to press his face into Cody’s neck.

“ _Su cuy’gar, cyare._ Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” He didn’t want to talk right now. He had better ideas how to spend time before they have to get up for duty. Cody seemed to agree. 

“What was that song you had been humming before?” He asked him after some time. They still had five minutes to lie in bed and ignore forty-nine comms from Anakin, seven from Ahsoka and thirteen from Rex. If Anakin was spamming that it definitely wasn’t important, if Ahsoka was comming him instead of calling, that she was dragged into Anakin’s agenda, and comms from Rex that went to Cody meant only that he was dragged into Ahsoka’s agenda. A circle of life. 

He took a second to draw a breath and look him in the eye.

“I’ll sing it to you, later. If you’d like.”

Cody seemed to understand that it was very much a private matter. Something special, and precious. He nodded sharply. Honest to the bone and so solemn. He pressed their heads in a Keldabe kiss. So tender, so intimate.

“Yes, I’d love to hear it.”

* * *

His soldiers were bred for war, and they were bred for the Jedi.

He was meant for war, and he was meant for Jedi.

Two scales, perfectly balanced, as all things should be.

The Force caught him, like it always did. 

* * *

The Dune Sea was calm and peaceful. First rays of sunshine appeared behind the dunes of sand, on a clear blue sky, bathing beige landscape in a golden light. Everyone was still asleep, as comfortable as they could be on a harsh, desert planet, grasping last moments of calm before the second sun will rise, before starting a new day of work.

Everyone but one person.

His voice was quiet, but clear and melodic when he sang a song for no one in particular. A song his mother had sung to him when he was little, and his grandmother before, and every other woman in his family. It wasn’t his song, he didn’t own it, but it ran in his blood so smoothly like it ran off his tongue. It was a song of his mother’s people and that made it _his._

He sang a song of a lad that is gone, and _say, could that lad be him?_

_All that was good, all that was fair, all that was me is gone._

He turned his back to the sun, to the golden sands, and went back to his hut.

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi, one way or another, was always meant for war.

  
  


And some wars you can’t help but lose. 

**Author's Note:**

> First glossary, then explanations.
> 
> Mando'a:
> 
> cyare: beloved  
> kote: glory  
> su cuy'gar: hello (lit. You're still alive.)
> 
> Yes, I take is as canon that Cody's name comes from Kote, because in this fic it works spectacularly well with lyrics.
> 
> Stewjoni (or Scottish Gaelic):
> 
> a sheòid: my hero, valiant warrior  
> mo chridhe: my heart  
> dè?: what?  
> oidhche mhath: goodnight  
> madainn mhath: good morning
> 
> So I am obviously not Scottish and I hope I get those phrases right. Something about this language fascinates me, but also scares me, because it's so hard to pronounce. Also, it's hard to write a bilingual character when his patterns are literally opposite of mine (I'm also mixing languages when I'm tired, but I tend to switch to English, but at some point I don't know any words anymore and I'm just using both at the same time), but one thing I'm sure about this? He would totally speak Stewjoni just to irritate Qui-Gon when he's being an inconsiderate asshole. That's what I would do.
> 
> According to some page I found about Scottish names Blair (also spelled as 'Blaire') means 'battlefield' and I said "works fine with me".
> 
> Billy is an OC I made, and in that scene Obi-Wan was singing this [shanty song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLiNQhQr4G4), because it wouldn't leave my head and the name of the ship was the Billy of Tea, so Billy it is.
> 
> Okay, that would be all. I think. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
